360
by donutsandcoffee
Summary: Clint and Tony's relationship from all perspectives; a collection of ficlets. / Clint x Tony / three - "Clint is a country boy at heart, so Tony sucks it up and takes his boyfriend on a romantic trip somewhere."
1. basic rocket science (1)

**a/n: **so here's how it works-sometimes there are prompts in avengers kink meme. there was also that one time when I opened my tumblr for prompts.

all ironhawk, because this ship needs more love.

these are all my attempts to fill those prompts with few-thousand-words ficlets, and if people like certain ones, I may continue them :) so unless stated otherwise, every chapter is an independent story with various permutations of clint and tony's relationship, sometimes canon, sometimes au, sometimes fluffy, sometimes sad; and always-all the feels.

hope you enjoy and feedbacks in any form are lovely!

**-x-**

**basic rocket science**

****prompt: _clint is secretly a genius._

**-x-**

It's not that Tony thinks Clint is stupid.

No, definitely not. Clint does archery and is a professional sniper, and anyone with one-tenth knowledge of either would know that shooting things is always 90% calculation and 10% of, well, _actually _shooting things. So no, Tony doesn't think Clint is stupid, not by any stretch of imagination.

It's just that, Tony wouldn't guess that Clint's a _genius_, either. In his defense, Tony's a prodigy, a _genius _before he's a _billionaire playboy philanthropist_, and Tony mastered Thermal Physics in one night so his standard for 'genius' may be a little bit too high. Clint may be smart for a regular fellow, but Tony is the genius one in the relationship. Not that there's anything wrong with that—they're equal in a lot of things, and Clint has better biceps and butts, so it's only fair for Tony to have the better brain, damn it.

(Also, it's not like he wants to have kinky, physics-themed sex. Okay, maybe he _did_ remove that one off his bucket list when he started dating Clint, but hey, you can't have everything in life.)

So it's safe to say that he doesn't really expect much when he says he's going to teach Clint basic physics immediately after he finds out that Clint's childhood involved a lot more… _circus _and a lot less formal schooling than he expected.

"Look, Tony, I'm totally fine with it, okay?" Clint says as Tony rummages through his high school physics notes, clearly aiming for indignant but only comes across as shy. "I'm totally fine with never learning physics. I'm totally fine with not knowing—I don't know—E equals to mc square, or Newton's Third Law, or—"

"_Don't,_" Tony hisses as he slams another stack of dusty notes on his workbench. "Continue that sentence and I might actually burst into tears."

"Are you trying to say that I'm stupid?"

"No, I just think that _you_," Tony pulls out the last stack from the cardboard box and pushes everything towards Clint's side, "are a poor, unenlightened soul."

Clint looks scandalized. "Because I didn't get to learn why the fucking apple falls from a tree."

Tony grins and gestures at the pile. "Yet."

"This is stupid," Clint mumbles, but he reaches for a paper anyways, because he knows Tony means well and Tony would never make fun of him when it matters, and the fact that Clint tells Tony all these things in the first place can only mean that Clint _trusts _him enough to_ and god, Tony is in love._

"What?" Clint asks, but Tony just ducks his head to hide his smile and pulls a metal chair to sit beside Clint instead.

**-x-**

When Clint and Tony first got together, there was some skepticism, but mostly it was a general agreement that Things Could've Been Worse.

They could've been mortal enemies instead, Hill once theorized, and teambuilding sessions would've been a _nightmare_. There's only so much snark and sarcasm one can take in a lifetime, after all.

But the worse case scenario is the one proposed by Nick Fury, who had been so_ convinced _that Tony would end up in Bruce's bed instead, and everyone knew Tony Stark is only one evil laugh away from being a mad scientist. Bruce, with his brain and brand of dark humor, would've definitely been a push in the mad-scientist way. Clint has his fair share of dark humor, but everyone, including Fury, assumes that he's lacking in the brain part. When Clint and Tony got together, the world was immediately branded Mad-Scientist-Stark-Free.

Fury should've known not to assume things.

**-x-**

The physics crash course lasted longer than Tony expected, and that should've tipped him off. They are in a heated discussion about the Schrodinger's equation when JARVIS announces that it's already time for dinner.

"Huh," Tony says, because the last time he checked the clock said it was one in the afternoon. Which means that Clint has been studying for _five hours_, and that's the longest amount of time Clint has ever concentrated on something that isn't archery or sex.

"Huh," Clint says, because he's probably thinking the same thing Tony is thinking.

Tony wants to comment on that, but his stomach is growling, so they go out of the workshop instead, and no one brings it up again.

**-x-**

It's weeks after that first physics crash course when everything comes into light.

There were a couple more crash courses after that, and Tony should've realized, really—the way Clint is learning really, _really _fast for someone who didn't even go to college, the way the time they spend on these courses gets longer and longer—but Tony doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

Not until today.

Tony and Bruce are working on a possible improvement for Natasha's protective gear and Clint is, as usual, lying around the sofa Tony put in the lab just for Clint (not that he'd admit that), and Tony is busy with an equation when he hears, "you missed an integral."

Both Bruce and Tony stop in their track.

"What?" Tony turns, only to see Clint pointing at one of the screens.

"You missed an integral there," Clint says, looking as confused as Tony and Bruce are. "I mean, just—look. That equation, the one at that corner screen, there should've been—ugh, that's what the squiggly lines are called, right? Integrals?"

"Uh, no offense, buddy, but do you even understand what's going on—_holy shit_."

Bruce takes off his glasses in alarm. "Tony?"

"He's right, Bruce, we missed an integral," Tony says, immediately tapping at the screens in record speed, "which would explain the anomaly in the second result, and of course we missed it because this was a delicate process and would've been unnoticeable if not—_Jesus Christ._"

There's a pause.

And then Tony quickly turns, strides across the lab in less than a dozen steps, and grabs Clint by the shoulders so hard Clint actually looks alarmed.

"Tony?" Clint tries.

Tony's grip on the shoulders only tightens. "You. IQ Test. Now."

**-x-**

Assumption is a dangerous thing, because after knowing Clint's past, SHIELD simply assumed that Clint has average IQ, and Clint never sat for an IQ test.

Until today.

"JARVIS, pull up the file called 'bucket list' and add 'kinky, physics-themed sex' back into it again," is the first thing Tony says after the result comes up, because the _hell _if they're going to waste Clint's IQ of a hundred-fucking-seventy.

Clint simply smirks.

**-x-**


	2. the road to hell (1)

**-x-**

**the road to hell**

summary: _The road to hell isn't paved with good intentions. The road to hell is paved with questionable cooking methods and ingredients whose edibility is still dubious at best and under dispute at worst, and _those_ are made with good intentions._

_Or: Clint loves food, so Tony cooks._

_Except that Tony can't._

**-x-**

Clint can cook.

Clint can cook so fucking well it should always be given as an offering to the gods, who would all appropriately proceed to weep in appreciation. This may sound like a good analogy, but it isn't one; Thor and the Warriors Three _did_ shed manly tears when they got a taste of Clint's lasagna for the first time. Sif didn't, because she is the goddess of grain, which means that she has been offered much wider variety of food than the four male gods combined, but even _she_ was close to tears.

The point of this long, not-analogy is: Clint can cook.

Tony can't.

**-x-**

There's a term for it: foodophile.

The word means just like you'd expect it to mean—extreme fondness and appreciation for food. If you ask Clint, it would mean that, and more—it means appreciation for food _and the art of cooking_, _fuck you, it is a form of art._

If you ask Tony, it used to mean 'pathetic excuse to eat a lot'. But when Clint cooks for you regularly, you _will _eat a lot, so that definition was promptly thrown out of the window to be replaced by Clint's much superior one. And Tony is living with a god who feasts every time there's a smallest hint of something to celebrate and a super-soldier whose metabolism is multiple times faster than a normal person, so his definition of 'eating a lot' has been significantly skewed, too.

But Tony digressed. The point of all these is: Clint is a foodophile.

And the more important point is: Clint's birthday is tomorrow.

Tony can easily order him delicious food from a random five-star restaurant, of course, but the thing is, it'll just be that. Delicious food from a random five-star restaurant. And Tony has always been the best at everything he puts his mind into, and now, for reasons he isn't really sure yet, he puts his mind into giving the best birthday present ever for Clint. So fuck five-star restaurants—Clint loves food, and Tony's the best at making things.

Tony is _so_ cooking.

**-x-**

Of course, ultimately, the most important point is: Tony can't cook.

**-x-**

"Tony, what are you doing?"

Tony freezes in his spot in front of the counter, because good god, Clint sounds so_concerned_. It takes him a few seconds to regain his sense and mobility, and another few seconds to set down the knife he was holding to cut the… carrot, he's quite sure it's carrot. Maybe. Everything looks so _different_ before being chopped and beautifully arranged on a plate.

Tony turns and, as he expected, Clint is at the kitchen door, looking as concerned as he sounded.

Tony shrugs and leans on the counter to feign nonchalance. "I was just, you know. Hungry. So I decided I should cook something."

Clint looks skeptical. "You? Hungry? Cooking?"

"Well, you see, that's the beauty of human physiology. After a certain period of time, you get this feeling called hunger in your stomach—"

"Not the hungry part, you _ass_," Clint says, but he's cracking a smile, "the cooking part."

Tony crosses his arm. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Tony," Clint says seriously, "I don't think you've ever lifted a kitchen utensil before."

That… is not entirely true. Tony lifted a knife a couple of times before, such as that time when one of the new workers turned out to be a Skrull and the bread knife was the closest thing he could throw at it, or that time when someone put a chopping board on top of one of his blue prints and he had to move it away. So, okay, Clint is not entirely wrong, either.

And Clint seems to have read his mind, because the other man just smirks at him.

Tony lifts his hands in defeat. "All right, fine, you win—this is the first time I've ever tried to cook in my entire life. Sue me."

"No, no!" Clint immediately says, "actually, I—I think it's kind of cool. That you're interested, I mean. Just," he pauses, as if he's scared that he might say the wrong thing, "why now, though?"

Clint looks half-excited and half-scared, and before Tony can stop himself he blurts, "because it's your birthday tomorrow."

It was supposed to be a surprise, but heck, the surprised smile on Clint's face is worth all the lost opportunity for surprise.

"I—okay," Clint says, and then instead of retreating, he pulls one of the wooden chairs and sits on it. "Go on."

"What do you mean 'go on'?"

"It means as it means, genius," Clint gestures at the half-chopped possibly-carrots and the rest of the foreign-looking ingredients, "just continue whatever you were doing. I'll just be… watching."

Tony blanches. "What do you mean watching? There's no watching here, this is not an exhibition, not a museum, not a zoo—"

"You're cooking for me, Tony," Clint quickly interrupts, "it's not going to make a big difference, whether I'm eating it now or tomorrow."

"I," Tony says, but Clint has a point, and the water inside the pot he's been heating is boiling, so he quickly tends to that and figures he might as well continue his cooking.

He could even _impress_ Clint with this hidden talent in cooking! Tony may have never cooked before, but he has degrees in different branches in chemistry, and that's what cooking ultimately is, right? Chemistry. Prepare the reactants, follow the steps. Voila! Food. It shouldn't be too hard. Heck, it should be fucking _easy._

Clint is so going to _love _his spaghetti bolognaise.

**-x-**

Tony pours his cooking on the plate, and the spaghetti has burnt marks on its ends, the meatballs looks like it's melting, and the vegetables have been burnt so bad it looks like charcoals, and scratch loving, Tony's _lucky_ if Clint can even _identify _what this is.

**-x-**

Clint is _literally laughing on the floor_.

**-x-**

"This physically wounds me, okay," Tony almost shouts, trying to match Clint's loud laughter, "here I am, trying to be a decent person, cooking for my best friend, and said best friend is_laughing at me on the kitchen floor_."

"You burnt a fucking _spaghetti, _Tony," Clint says in between his laughter, "how do you _fucking burnt a spaghetti_."

"I don't know, okay!" Tony huffs indignantly, because okay, maybe he's bad at this, but laughing on the floor? Seriously? "I just found out today that spaghettis are firm, unbendable sticks before you boil them! Cut me some slack, will you."

"But," Clint chokes out before laughing again, "you—a burnt spaghetti, and—are those—are those charcoals?"

"_No_," Tony says, "they are carrots! Or maybe radish. I'm not sure, I didn't really check."

"Oh my god, _Tony_," Clint says, and continues to laugh.

Tony just crosses his arm and scowls at the other man, and eventually the laughter dies down. Clint wipes the corner of his eyes, because he's an ass and he laughed until he cried.

Tony suddenly feels a very strong urge to storm out of the room. It's not like he really wanted to cook for Clint, that ungrateful bastard. Except that Tony does, he really, genuinely_wants _to cook for Clint, and this is stupid and unreasonable and he should just walk out of the room before he sees Clint throwing his cooking away—

But Clint doesn't. Instead, Clint takes a fork, takes some strands of the spaghetti and eats it.

Tony's jaw drops.

"Holy shit," Clint chokes, "usually I would advice people to direct their natural talent somewhere else safer, but this? This is _cooking_. It should be totally safe. And this spaghetti can _kill_."

It should be insulting, but Tony can't process a single word. He just gapes, because _Clint just ate that abomination_.

Clint immediately notices Tony's shock, and he waves a hand in front of Tony's face tentatively. "Hello, earth to Tony?"

"Why?" Tony says instead, "why did you eat that?"

Clint frowns. "Because you made it for me, idiot," he says, and looks at Tony as if the answer is obvious. And then his expression softens, and there's a small smile on Clint's face as he sighs and says, "thank you. Idiot."

And at that moment, as cliché as it sounds, Tony feels his heart misses a beat, because Clint just did this—this Clint-Sigh, which is totally different from Pepper-Sigh or Rhodey-Sigh or Steve-Sigh; not many would make a distinction, because people are sighing at and around Tony a lot, but Other-People-Sigh usually involves them being exasperated and condescending, like Tony couldn't help being such a messed up. But not Clint, because Clint-Sigh means _I get it, _means _that was stupid but I did stupid things too so I understand_, and there's absolutely no exasperation behind the sigh at all, and Tony—

Oh.

_Oh._

So. So this is why he wants to cook for Clint so badly. Why he wants to give Clint the best birthday present in the entire world. Why he risks being humiliated by his inability to cook anything that isn't water.

Why he really wants to make Clint happy.

"What?" Clint says. There's a faint blush on his cheeks, and well, it's cute, really.

Tony just shakes his head and smirks, "tomorrow I'll make you a better one."

"There's another one tomorrow?" Clint looks like he just heard the worst news he's ever heard in his life, "no, _no, _you are prohibited from ever touching any kitchen utensils for the rest of your life. Unless."

"Unless?"

"Unless you're getting cooking lessons," Clint says, and the small smile is there, again. "From me, that is."

Tony blinks. "Okay," Tony says, and he takes a bite out of his spaghetti. "Okay."

It tastes as bad as Clint claims, but Clint still has that small smile on his face, and Tony can't stop himself from smiling, either.

**-x-**

**a/n: **thank you for your feedback on the first ficlet! I'll probably think of a continuation, nothing porny though sorry (I'm kind of fail at writing anything above pg13)

as usual, any form of feedback is lovely :)


	3. trouble (1)

**a/n: **asadflkjf thank you for all the reviews/favorites/alerts I really appreciate it. I'll reply as soon as I can

of course feedbacks to specific story or writing style in general are still welcome; I may soon be open for prompts so... just stay in tune, I guess

once again thank you very much u-u

**-x-**

**trouble**

prompt: _clint is a country boy at heart, so tony sucks it up and takes his bf on a romantic trip somewhere. without wi-fi. dun, dun, DUN!_

**-x-**

In Pepper Potts' opinion, this is when the trouble starts:

"Ms. Potts," JARVIS said out of the blue, and Pepper had to remind herself again that an AI shouldn't be capable of sounding so _concerned_, "Mr. Stark has programmed me to inform you whenever his StarkPhone disappears from the Tower tracking system, which happened at 1803 hours today, 23 seconds ago. In a presumably related incident, so did Mr. Barton's five seconds after that."

Tony Stark begs to differ. Tony doesn't really beg to differ to a lot of Pepper's opinion because Pepper knows more things about Tony than Tony himself does, so when Tony disagrees with Pepper, it is Serious Business. And this time Tony disagrees, damn it, because to him, this when the trouble starts:

"Don't be such a wimp, Tony," Clint said, leaping around as if they weren't knee-deep in mud as Tony mourned the loss of his favorite shoes, "we're going to be fine, as long as it doesn't start to rai—oh. Wait."

Clint Barton disagrees, of course, because the _heck _if it is _his _fault. No, this is obviously the case of Tony's Fault, and in his opinion, this is when the trouble starts:

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Tony said a little too cheerfully and it was _weird_, okay, because Tony was never a morning person, and Clint's concerns tripled when he heard, "we are going camping today!"

**-x-**

"This is all your fault," Tony says as he glares at the heavy rainstorm.

Clint makes an indignant sound. "Excuse me?"

"This is because you made the whole 'we're totally fine as long as it's not going to rain' remark," Tony says, gesturing at the heavy rain outside the cave, "that's like, Tempting Fate 101. For all we know you've taunted the gods to make it rain, because it shouldn't be scientifically possible for it to rain here, now."

Tony isn't exaggerating, because he has checked the area's temperature, humidity and wind direction to ensure that their day—it's _their _day, okay—wouldn't be ruined by rain, but Tony doesn't say this.

Clint snickers. "Tony, _your existence _is a taunt to the gods. Like an insult."

"Right. Because I'm perfect and they're jealous," and Tony ducks as Clint throws a small tree-branch.

The branch bounces off the wall of the cave and hits Tony at the back of his head. Clint laughs.

"Fuck you," Tony says, and he's back to glaring at the rain.

**-x-**

In Steve Rogers' opinion, this is when the trouble starts:

"You went to countryside a lot during your breaks, right?" Tony asked, leaning on the wall to feign nonchalance, but Steve saw the way Tony moved his fingers every time he was nervous, "so, uh, any tips on how do you actually have any resemblance of fun without any help from technology?"

In Bruce Banner's opinion, this is when the trouble starts:

"It _has _to be next week, okay?" Tony said, running his hand through his hair in frustration and Bruce didn't have the heart to say, _that's not how weather works and you know it, _"it's the only day when he has no stupid assignments from that stupid SHIELD and please tell me that sixty percent is a good enough probability that it isn't going to rain."

In Thor Odinson's opinion, this is when the trouble starts:

"Do you control just the positive charges to create potential difference and thus summoning lightning, or do you literally control the weather?" Tony says, and Thor looks at him skeptically because he's still unsure when Tony genuinely asks him a question and when he simply uses jargon just to make fun of him, "because if the rain is controlled by your, I don't know, mood or anything, name me your price. Name me _anything_ and I'll buy you a truckload of it. Literally."

**-x-**

"You know," Clint leans forward, trying to get as much heat as possible from the makeshift fireplace he just made, "you can't stop rain with sheer willpower."

"Because I didn't know that. Which of us has twelve degrees in various branches of science again?" Tony says, but he stops glaring at the rainstorm and sits beside Clint.

"Uh, which of us just proposed that the rain was a divine intervention from the gods?" Clint counters.

"Well, which of us is friends with the Norse god of thunder?" Tony says, "oh, wait. _Both of us_."

Clint opens his mouth to retort, but whatever he wants to say dies in his lips as Tony huddles closer towards Clint. Clint mumbles, "whatever," and he doesn't move away when Tony purposely presses their legs together, so Tony counts this one as a win.

**-x-**

(Tony was lying, of course, because to him lying isn't so much of a choice than it is a reflex, a defense mechanism, and Tony can't help twisting the truths most of the times.

If he were to be honest, though, in his opinion, this is when the trouble starts:

"It's just that," Clint says, and there's this longing look in his eyes and Tony feels something inside him dies a little, "the circus would sometimes travel to the countryside and Carson—he was the big guy there, you see—he'd let us walk around, have some free time for hours. And these moments are, well, on of the few good memories of my childhood? And now the only time I ever go to countryside is when I'm on a mission and, well, the nature, the fresh air… I kind of miss those," and Tony has mentally planned out a trip for two before Clint even finished his sentence.)

**-x-**

"It's cold," Tony declares.

"No shit, Sherlock," Clint says, more of an automatic response than an actual reply. They are lying down side by side at the corner of the cave, the fire from the makeshift fireplace died down and went out minutes ago. Tony contemplates the situation and decides that the day was royally ruined.

He says exactly that, out loud. Monotonously, though. And definitely without a pout.

Okay, probably with a pout.

Clint takes a glance at his expression and chuckles. "Seriously?" He says, "this isn't even in the top 20 of the worst things that could've happened to us and you know it."

Tony doesn't say anything, and there's a beat before Clint sighs and says, "why do you take this so seriously?"

Tony immediately sits up to make a point. "Because," he says, and stops. _Because I thought I could make you happy. Because this is the first time we actually have a day together after a long time. Because you wanted this. Because I want to see your smile. _He can't think of a sentence that doesn't sound like he's quoting a rom-com movie, so he finishes lamely with, "it's supposed to be."

"Supposed to be what?"

"Our time."

Clint stiffens. Tony considers the idea that he's said something wrong, but Clint visibly relaxes, pulls him down, and wraps his arms around Tony's torso.

"Idiot," he mumbles into Tony's shoulder, but he sounds almost fond.

It's probably uncomfortable for Clint and it's sure as hell uncomfortable for Tony, Clint's impossibly spiky hair pokes on Tony's cheek and shoulder like thousands of dull, tiny needles, but Tony's smile deepens by itself every time he flicks an absent glance on Clint, and well, the day probably isn't so ruined after all.

**-x-**

In Natasha Romanov's opinion, this is when the trouble starts:

Clint and Tony got together.

Because nothing says trouble louder than Clint Barton and Tony Stark as a couple, as a _team_; Clint is a ball of snark and Tony has probably opted sarcasm as his preferred mode of communication, and _that _many problems with communication alone? Coupled with long history of subordination and penchant for pranks? And she hasn't even started on their issues.

God, _their issues._

But as Natasha leads the search group into the cave and finds the two, Clint sleeping messily on Tony's shoulder, a peaceful expression she hasn't seen on Clint's face in _years_, she concludes that yes, this is probably worth the trouble.

**-x-**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**-x-**

_epilogue_

Clint groans at the sight of Tony flopping into their bed, clothes still soaked with rainwater and mud.

"You do know there's this thing called _shower_ in your room?"

Tony waves lazily at him. "Let me sleep now, I'm _exhausted_."

Clint narrows his eyes. "And that's why you turned on the TV."

Tony glares back at him. "As a civilized, free human being," he says seriously, "I'm going to sleep to the sound of civilization and nobody, I repeat, _nobody _can stop me."

Clint shrugs as he walks towards the bathroom. Tony hears the sound of water running before Clint pokes his head out of the bathroom door.

"Whatever. So where are we going next time?"

Clint just laughs at the look of horror that crosses Tony's face.

**-x-**


End file.
